thinks I want to be High Captain of the Tower Guard!
The concept was laughable. Gawyn could have been First Prince of the Sword—should have been First Prince of the Sword—leader of Andor's armies and protector of the Queen. He was son to Morgase Trakand, one of the most influential and powerful rulers Andor had ever known. He had no desire for this man's position.
That wouldn't be how it looked to Chubain. Disgraced by the destructive Seanchan attack, he must feel that his position was in danger.
'Captain,' Gawyn said, 'may I speak with you in private?'
Chubain looked at Gawyn suspiciously, then nodded toward the hallway. The two of them retreated. Nervous Tower servants waited outside, ready to clean the blood away.
Chubain folded his arms and inspected Gawyn. 'What is it you wish of me, my Lord?'
He often emphasized the rank. Calm, Gawyn thought. He still felt the shame of how he'd bullied his way into Bryne's camp. He was better than that. Living with the Younglings, enduring the confusion and then the shame of the events surrounding the Tower's breaking, had changed him. He couldn't continue down that path.
'Captain,' Gawyn said, 'I appreciate you letting me inspect the room.'
'I didn't have much choice.'
'I realize that. But you have my thanks nonetheless. It's important to me that the Amyrlin see me helping. If I find something the sisters miss, it could mean a great deal for me.'
'Yes,' Chubain said, eyes narrowing. 'I suspect it could.'
'Maybe she'll finally have me as her Warder.'
Chubain blinked. 'Her… Warder?'
'Yes. Once, it seemed certain that she would take me, but now… well, if I can help you with this investigation, perhaps it will cool her anger at me.' He raised a hand, gripping Chubain's shoulder. 'I will remember your aid. You call me Lord, but my title is all but meaningless to me now. All I want is to be Egwene's Warder, to protect her.'
Chubain wrinkled his brow. Then he nodded and seemed to relax. 'I heard you talking. You're looking for marks of gateways. Why?'
'I don't think this is the work of the Black Ajah,' Gawyn said. 'I think it might be a Gray Man, or some other kind of assassin. A Darkfriend among the palace staff, perhaps? I mean, look at how the women are killed. Knives.'
Chubain nodded. 'There were some signs of a struggle too. The sisters doing the investigation mentioned that. The books swept from the table. They thought it was done by the woman flailing as she died.'
'Curious,' Gawyn said. 'If I were a Black sister, I'd use the One Power, regardless of the fact that others might sense it. Women channel all the time in the Tower; this wouldn't be suspicious. I'd immobilize my victim with weaves, kill her with the Power, then escape before anyone thought oddly of it. No struggle.'
'Perhaps,' Chubain said. 'But the Amyrlin seems confident that this is the work of Black sisters.'
'I'll talk to her and see why,' Gawyn said. 'For now, perhaps you should suggest to those doing the investigation that it would be wise to interview the palace servants? Give this reasoning?'
'Yes… I think I might do that.' The man nodded, seeming less threatened.
The two stepped aside, Chubain waving the servants to enter for their cleaning. Sleete came out, looking thoughtful. He held something up, pinched between his fingers. 'Black silk,' he said. 'There's no way of knowing if it came from the attacker.'
Chubain took the fibers. 'Odd.'
'A Black sister wouldn't seem likely to proclaim herself by wearing black,' Gawyn said. 'A more ordinary assassin, though, might need the dark colors to hide.'
Chubain wrapped the fibers in a handkerchief and pocketed them. 'I'll take these to Seaine Sedai.' He looked impressed.
Gawyn nodded to Sleete, and the two of them retreated.
'The White Tower is abuzz these days with returning sisters and new Warders,' Sleete said softly. 'How would anyone—no matter how stealthy—travel the upper levels wearing black without drawing attention?'
'Gray Men are supposed to be able to avoid notice,' Gawyn said. 'I think this is more proof. I mean, it seems odd that nobody has actually seen these Black sisters. We're making a lot of assumptions.'
Sleete nodded, eyeing a trio of novices who had gathered to gawk at the guards. They saw Sleete looking and chittered to one another before scampering away.
'Egwene knows more than she's saying,' Gawyn said. 'I'll talk to her.'
'Assuming she'll see you,' Sleete said.
Gawyn grunted irritably. They walked down a series of ramps to the level of the Amyrlin's study. Sleete remained with him—his Aes Sedai, a Green named Hattori, rarely had duties for him. She still had her eyes on Gawyn for a Warder; Egwene was being so infuriating, Gawyn had half a mind to let Hattori bond him.
No. No, not really. He loved Egwene, though he was frustrated with her. It had not been easy to decide to give up Andor—not to mention the Younglings—for her. Yet she still refused to bond him.
He reached her study, and approached Silviana. The woman sat at her neat, orderly Keeper's desk in the antechamber before Egwene's study. The woman inspected Gawyn, her eyes unreadable behind her Aes Sedai mask. He suspected that she didn't like him.
'The Amyrlin is composing a letter of some import,' Silviana said. 'You may wait.'
Gawyn opened his mouth.
'She asked not to be interrupted,' Silviana said, turning back to the paper she had been reading. 'You may wait.'
Gawyn sighed, but nodded. As he did so, Sleete caught his eye and gestured that he was going. Why had he accompanied Gawyn down here in the first place? He was an odd man. Gawyn waved farewell, and Sleete vanished into the hallway.
The antechamber was a grand room with a deep red rug and wood trim on the stone walls. He knew from experience that none of the chairs were comfortable, but there was a single window. Gawyn stepped up to it for some air and rested his arm on the recessed stone, staring out over the white Tower grounds. This high up, the air felt crisper, newer.
Below, he could see the new Warder practice grounds. The old ones were dug up where Elaida had begun building her palace. Nobody was sure what Egwene would end up doing with the construction.
The practice grounds were busy, a bustle of figures sparring, running, fencing. With the influx of refugees, soldiers and sell-swords, there were many who presumed themselves Warder material. Egwene had opened the grounds to any who wanted to train and try to prove themselves, as she intended to push for as many women as were ready to be raised over the next few weeks.
Gawyn had spent a few days training, but the ghosts of men he had killed seemed more present down there. The grounds were a part of his past life, a time before everything had gone wrong. Other Younglings had easily— and happily—returned to that life. Already Jisao, Rajar, Durrent and most of his other officers had been chosen as Warders. Before long, nothing would remain of his band. Except for Gawyn himself.
The inner door clicked, followed by hushed voices. Gawyn turned to find Egwene, dressed in green and yellow, walking over to speak with Silviana. The Keeper glanced at him, and he thought he caught a trace of a frown on her face.
Egwene saw him. She kept her face Aes Sedai serene—she'd grown good at that so quickly—and he found himself feeling awkward.
'There was another death this morning,' he said quietly, walking up to her.
'Technically,' Egwene said, 'it was last night.'
'I need to talk to you,' Gawyn blurted.
Egwene and Silviana shared a look. 'Very well,' Egwene said, gliding back into her study.
Gawyn followed, not looking at the Keeper. The Amyrlin's study was one of the grandest rooms in the Tower. The walls were paneled with a pale striped wood, carved to show fanciful scenes, marvelously detailed. The hearth was marble, the floor made of deep red stone cut into diamond blocks. Egwene's large, carved desk was set with two lamps. They were in the shape of two women raising their hands to the air, flames burning between each set of palms.
One wall had bookcases filled with books arranged—it seemed—by color and size rather than by subject.
